


Nova Satus

by honeybee_motorcyles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ADHD, Alternate Universe, Career Change, Fix It, Fluff, Fluff and a little Angst, John Watson is Perfect, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Stimulants medication, The Other One, This is a response to season 3 where everything went to shit., Uncle Rudy (Mention)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26057302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee_motorcyles/pseuds/honeybee_motorcyles
Summary: This story is the reimagining of the Reichenbach fall wherein Sherlock and John goes after Jim's Criminal enterprise together. This fanfic tackles what happened afterwards.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my Bata ilikestopwatches for the great help on this fic. 
> 
> Thank you so very much B.
> 
> The title Is a Latin words for New Horizon

It had been nine months and thirteen days since Mycroft had summoned Sherlock and John to his office to ask the detective and his blogger to go after the Criminal Network. They had been on the run from Moriarty’s men since then. The two had been in Paris, France, Rome, Italy, Copenhagen, Denmark, Nuuk, Greenland, Manhattan, New York, Boston, Massachusetts, Chicago, Illinois, Las Vegas, Nevada. Their last stop was Salt Lake City, Utah. 

Mycroft had asked them to work with the local police to track and destroy the criminal enterprise. “They ought to be alive and able to stand trial.” Mycroft had informed them that day. 

Sherlock had shot James Moriarty in the head at one memorable meeting, in a final showdown of wits. 

They needed to leave London. It was for the safety of their family and friends for there were five trained gunmen.

Sherlock and John had been crossing the western world for almost a year; it had been a fun ride. Despite the many difficulties and near disasters, they had survived. After this, they could go back home to London. 

They sat in Temple Square; they hoped to catch Mary Morstan, one of the network’s department heads. Her department was child trafficking. 

They sat in the rooftop restaurant of Joseph Smith Memorial with two FBI agents and two Salt Lake Police officers. They would be posing as wannabe parents.

Sherlock wore a polo and jeans, a far cry from his suit and dress shirt, while John wore a long sleeve tee and jeans. They had underdressed on purpose. They were both sporting thick beards which Sherlock hated. 

Sherlock noticed the blonde-haired woman enter the restaurant. She beamed at them. “Shane Howard,” she said as she approached their table. 

“Hi, Miss Morstan, this is my partner Jack Waiters,” Sherlock introduced. 

“Nice to meet you, Miss Morstan,” John stood up and shook her hand.

Sherlock noticed that Morstan had an assistant, lurking with a very discrete baby car seat. He notified one of two undercover police officers, working as one of the wait staff. 

Kate Moratti, the FBI agent Mycroft had contacted in London and one of the agents in the ‘control room’, said to his earpiece, “Sherlock, engage her.” 

Sherlock shook his head, minusculely. “How many kids have you placed in your career? 

Kate sighed at the other end of the line. “Don’t ask her about the agency, ask her where she is from. It could sound very suspicious very quickly.”

John’s earpiece was activated to the conversation and he intervened with a sports question. “My partner and I caught a basketball game earlier this week. Do you think that the Jazz will be in the playoffs this year?’" Sherlock rolled his eyes but with a look from John shut his big mouth up.

Mary looked up from where she was looking at her menu and smiled. “Yes, I hope, we were 40-34…” 

Sherlock summoned the waiter. He ordered steak, the same as John, and Mary ordered a salad. Then a question from Sherlock took Kate and John aback. “Can we see pictures of these children, so that we could see if this is the best fit for our family?”

Sherlock heard Kate sigh; the men glared at each other. "I am bored, I want to go home," Sherlock whispered to John's ear. 

Kate heard him of course. “I will arrest you for interfering with the law, Sherlock.” Sherlock rolled his eyes inwardly, but he let John lead the way. 

John, Sherlock and Mary were talking when Mary slipped. “The director of our agency, Jim, died. He was such a kind hearted man.” Sherlock and John cringed inwardly. 

Kate was shouting in their ears. “Don’t let your emotions show. We are almost there. Just ask her about Jim.”

Sherlock could practically see the cogs turning in Mary’s smug grin. "You know him, Mr Holmes, " Mary said, a cold expression in her eyes. 

Before Sherlock could say the word, Kate Moratti, her partner Robert Bryant and the two Salt Lake police officers swarmed in to handcuff Morstan. Sherlock and John moved from the table to give the police space. They watched as their ten-month long sortie ended. 

XXXXX

The next evening they were invited to Kate’s hotel bar for drinks. They said they would come. So, there they were at the heart of Mormon town. 

Kate and Robert were waiting for them when they entered the pub. She approached them. “Sherlock, John, how are you?” They sat at a round table. “By the way, thank you. We could not do this without your help.” 

Sherlock and John looked at her. "Thank you, too, for helping us. We…” John looked at Sherlock. “really appreciate your help.” Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement of John’s words.

“What’s next for the detective and his doctor. Are you two getting married?” Kate looked from one to the other.

Sherlock answered her question. He took a swallow of his beer. “We haven’t talked about it yet.” He winked at John. “However, we are planning to be fathers.” He and John had talked about having children but not about getting married. Because, to Sherlock, getting married was just a formality of their love and it was so sappy. 

“Ah, congratulations…” Kate said. She squeezed Sherlock’s arm. He smirked. 

“How’s Daniel?” Sherlock inquired out of the blue. Daniel Piers, Kate's husband, worked as a behavioural profiler for the FBI.

Kate, surprised, looked at him sharply. “He’s fine.” 

Robert, John and Kate talked about Sherlock's cases, while Sherlock sat listening to the conversation. John urged Sherlock to talk but he wasn’t in the mood for it. After an hour, they base their farewell on the two officers. They walked to their rental car hand-in-hand. 

The next morning they went on a holiday to California. 

XxXxXxXxX

The plane ride from Los Angeles International to Heathrow was uneventful. Sherlock and John were both excited and anxious to be back on their home turf. When they landed at the airport, there were people waiting for them; it wasn’t just their family but there were also fans of John’s blog. 

It had been ten months since John had written a small note in his blog saying that they would be on hiatus. Sherlock thought that it was a little much. It was a silly blog; people who read that thing were idiots of lesser minds. 

However, as the escalator was moving down, Sherlock saw fans of John's blog. He would not admit it to John but he was emotional for he hadn’t expected people to do this. ‘Sentimentality wasn’t helpful, dammit.’ Sherlock thought.

His brothers, John’s sister and Mrs Hudson were waiting for them; they ran towards the group. Sherlock exchanged a look with Mycroft over Sherrin’s head. 

Sherlock’s middle brother; Jacob Sherrinford Alan Holmes was a professor of history in City College London. Sherrin and Sherlock looked. He and Sherlock were very close. 

John and Sherlock sat in Mycroft’s car silently, contemplating the couple of days they would have in the Kensington Manor. They could not go back to Baker Street; the tabloids would be there, wanting an interview. 

Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the Holmes Manor in Kensington.

As soon as they were parked, Sherlock jumped out of the car; John, Sherrinford, and Mycroft followed him behind. They had dropped Mrs Hudson on the tube station; she returned to Baker Street. 

The first person that greeted him was his former nanny and now the caretaker, Linda Nicholson. She had taken care of Sherlock and Sherrin while their parents were roaming around the world.

"Oh my, Sherlock." Linda enveloped him in a big warming hug. He hugged her back willingly. Linda was a younger version of Mrs Hudson. She was in her late sixties, with a no-nonsense attitude towards life, unlike his parents.

Sherlock went straight up to his childhood room to rest, while Linda, John, and Sherrin ate lunch.

After lunch, John sat in the living room of Sherlock’s childhood home with Sherrinford and Linda. They were talking about childhood memories; John was just listening. 

“One day, we were sitting in the garden,” Sherrin said, looking down at his glass of wine and pointing at the garden outside. John followed his gaze. 

Sherrin continued after taking a sip of his wine. “Lock was playing with a video game. I was like six years old, Lock was like five, while Mikey was off to Eton. Sherlock had found a squirrel; he showed me the thing and told me that he would take care of it. I told him, no way; I explained to Sherlock that he couldn’t. The next instance, Mummy was standing next to him, and she forcefully took the squirrel from him.” 

“What happened after they took the squirrel away?” John asked. 

Sherrin looked heavenwards. “He didn’t speak for a month. Our parents wanted us to be robots, like Mikey. There is nothing wrong with Mycroft, but it wasn’t us. He is more like Uncle Rudy.” The final comment was made casually 

“Uncle Rudy?” John asked, confused.

Sherrin took a sip of his wine and sighed. “Mum’s brother, who died of AIDS-Related illness in the ’80s. He was an artist in New York."

"Well, the autism was why he became non-verbal," John commented offhandedly 

Sherrin nodded. “By this point, he was only having sensory processing issues and ADHD. Initially, Lock was diagnosed with Aspergers. By the time he was thirteen, the Aspergers diagnosis was rescinded; replaced by SPD and ADHD. By the way, John did he tell you that he had autism?" 

John shook his head. "No, but Mycroft did."

Sherrin scoffed. “Mycroft, as smart as he is, doesn’t know shit.”

“It made sense now,” John mused. Autism and ADHD had a lot of symptoms that were similar to one another, especially in milder cases of autism. He changed the subject from Sherlock to what Sherrin had been doing. 

XXXX

John knocked on the door to Sherlock’s childhood room. After the conversation with Sherrin, he wanted to ask Sherlock about his childhood in an affluent household with uncaring parents. However, he found Sherlock asleep. 

John entered the bedroom and glanced around. Three degrees hung on the wall. One for a double bachelors degree in chemistry and psychology as well as a masters in Forensic Psychology. He looked for another; sure enough, there was another one, a doctorate in Neurochemistry all from Cambridge. "What the hell?" he muttered.

He thought back to what Mycroft had told him when he and Sherlock had first gotten together last Christmas. “My brother has the intelligence of a professor, but what is he doing? Solving crimes,” Mycroft had said with a sneer; he was right.

John saw Sherlock’s eyes open and he sat on Sherlock’s bed. Sherlock said, “You are looking at my diplomas and wondering why I was solving crimes instead of teaching or doing research.” He sat up.

“Yes? I mean Mycroft was right about you,” John said quietly. “You have a Doctorate in Neurochemistry?" 

So?” Sherlock asked irritatedly.

“Don’t get me wrong, Sherlock, I like our life. However, I want to understand you.” 

Sherlock looked at him. “The first year I was in university, I read chemistry. Then an ex-boyfriend.” He smiled sadly, remembering Victor. “Victor’s father was murdered while we were at uni. I was studying Chemistry at that time, and then a forensics psychologist interviewed me. I became intrigued by the trade." 

“Why did you do two courses instead of one?” John asked. 

Sherlock answered, with a shrug. “I still loved chemistry. I'll always love chemistry. However, psychology is just different." 

It made total sense to John that Sherlock would find psychology and neurochemistry fascinating. “What did you do after university?"

Sherlock shrugged again. "After I went to university, I lived on the streets. Mum died when I was twelve, dad when I was twenty-two." 

“This was the time you did drugs?” John didn’t know why Sherlock had turned to drugs. 

“Do you think I just did drugs for the heck of it? I was on Ritalin all my life." 

John stared at Sherlock; he didn't know what to say so he remained silent. Of course, Sherlock was prescribed medications. 

“I met Lestrade when I was twelve - when our mother died. He came here to inform us," Sherlock said. "However, we got to know each other after he arrested me for drugs. At the station, I solved four somewhat petite crimes and one big one. Lestrade told me that if I want to help NSY, I ought to be clean. So I got clean." 

John slid down next to Sherlock and kissed him on the face. “Sherrin told me you aren’t autistic. Why did Mycroft tell me you were ?”

Sherlock shrugged, "That's Mycroft speaking.” They sat in Sherlock's childhood room until Linda called them for dinner.

XXXXXX

Sherlock and John left the Kensington Manner after the media circus had died down. They had no case; Sherlock wondered if the London he left had forgotten him. 

John was working at St. Barts; the day was turning out to be boring. Sherlock was reading a book in neurochemistry while researching IVF in the UK for gay couples. They needed a surrogate and an egg donor. Sherlock and John had decided that they would each be a biological father. John had always wanted a son. He wanted two kids close in age, like he and Sherrin.

First, he needed a case to occupy himself. He stood up and went down to the ground floor; there was a knock on the front door. He opened the front door.It was Lestrade. He smiled and let the DI in without a word. 

They were on the top step when Sherlock spoke. “You have a case for me, and you have been sleeping with Molly for six months.” They climbed the seventeen steps to the second floor.

“Yes… to both counts,” Lestrade said, still amused with Sherlock’s deductions. 

They entered the sitting room; Sherlock offered the DI tea. He had deduced that this was a social visit rather than a professional one. He brought two cups of tea to the sitting room. “Case first, before you and I talk,” Sherlock told the DI.

“Right,” Lestrade said in mild defeat; he had been found out already. “Marc Andrews, a 30-year-old diabetic man killed last Sunday.” 

“Insulin-dependent?” Sherlock asked while sipping his tea. Lestrade nodded. “Syringe?” Lestrade nodded again. After a short deliberation, Sherlock said, “Girlfriend.”

Lestrade sipped his cup of tea. “How are things going with John?” he asked.

Sherlock answered politely, “We’re fine.” He smiled. “In a year or so we will probably have kids.” 

Lestrade, who was sipping his tea, spat out his drink. “Wow, I just don’t know what to say. I am happy for you both.” Lestrade clapped Sherlock’s back. 

“Thank you.” After a while, Sherlock was alone with his laptop again, as Lestrade had gone to visit Molly. 

After Lestrade left, Sherlock wondered about what he wanted to do with their flat when their hypothetical children came. He knew that Mycroft had bought 221 Baker Street from Mrs Hudson; Sherrin hinted at it. 

The next morning, Sherlock decided to propose to John. So while John was working, he went outside to look for a ring. Twenty minutes later, he came across a jewellery store and entered. “Hi, sir,” a man in his early twenties said. “Welcome to Chanel. What can I help you with?” 

Sherlock gave the man a once over. “Your boyfriend's cheating you and you know it. Now show me where the men’s engagement rings are.” 

The young man huffed but showed no irritation. “Here,” he said and led Sherlock to a display casing with plenty of rings.

John’s hand wasn’t long so no ring that was too big and bulky. “Can I see that one?” He pointed at a simple gold band.

The man handed him the ring.

“Do you have matching ones?” he asked. 

“Yes, we have.”

Sherlock looked at the rings. “I’ll take them." He paid for the rings. He gave Lestrade’s office address. 

He walked home from Chanel. When he arrived, John wasn’t there; he blew a sigh of relief. The first order of business was to call Greg. He answered after the first ring. “I sent you a package.” Sherlock said without preamble. 

“Wait, Sherlock. What is it in the package?” 

Sherlock sighed. “A ring. I am going to propose to John, maybe next time I take him to Angelo’s.” 

He heard as Lestrade whistled lightly. “I think congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, Greg, as always,” Sherlock said. He sent packages to Greg’s office all the time.

XxXxXXx

Three days later, the rings arrived at Lestrade’s office. Since it was John’s day off, Sherlock was hawkishly checking his text messages. He went to Lestrade’s office and retrieved the package. “Good luck, Sherlock,” Lestrade said as Sherlock was letting himself out.

“Now, time to meet John,” Sherlock said out loud. He texted John while he sat inside a cab. Meet me at Angelo’s tonight - 7:30, SH. 

XxXXxXxX

John was home while Sherlock was at god knows where. His boyfriend had just texted to meet him at their favourite restaurant at seven-thirty that night. 

He walked from the flat to the restaurant, admiring the city landscape. Sherlock was already seated at ‘their table’ when he arrived. 

“Hey?” Sherlock said, standing up. “John!”

“Hello.” He felt a little awkward; he gave Sherlock a chaste kiss. “Where did you go?”

“To the yard,” Sherlock said, a bit distracted. 

They ordered their usuals. The food was excellent as normal. During their meal, Sherlock told John about the egg donor and the surrogate they would use. 

Then dessert was served: chocolate cake for Sherlock and strawberry cake for John. Sherlock was nervously tapping his fingers. “Love, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Eat, John.” 

He started eating and, halfway through, he saw the ring. The ring was a prop in the centre of the cake. Sherlock began speaking. “John Hamish Watson, I love you very much. You are my conductor of light, my best friend, and the love of my life. Will you spend the rest of your life with me?” 

John looked up at Sherlock and hugged him. “Yes. Is that a question?" They kissed, hard, sweet and loving. “I love you too, Sherlock.”

People were clapping, and Angelo showed up from chaplain. That evening was one of the best evenings of John's life. 

End of Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock and John had decided that it would be easier to do it in America than in the UK. They found a doctor in New York and a surrogate in Virginia. Plus, they didn’t need Mycroft meddling with their decision. 

One day, the two men decided to board a plane to New York for their first fertility appointment with Dr Matilda Lambert: a fertility expert that worked closely with the LGBT community. “You need to get married before the birth," she said. 

“Why?” Sherlock asked, shifting on his chair. 

“Because in Virginia, where Ms Andrews is currently living, you can’t put both of your names on the child’s birth certificate.” 

“Oh, wow, so we need to get married then.” 

“Yes.” 

They stayed and talked for a couple more minutes. The doctor was great; she explained some more about what they would be doing with the surrogate. 

XXXxXxXxx

They went out into Manhattan for the day. It was very different from London. “Can you imagine living here, Sherlock?” They were seated in a coffee shop. 

Sherlock took a sip of his coffee. “When I was five, mummy and father moved Sherrin and I to California, while Mycroft was in boarding school so, yes, I could see myself living here."

They heard three consecutive gunshots. Sherlock stood, curious and John followed behind him. They reached the crime scene; it was in central park. Sherlock knelt at the body.

“Sherlock, you’re not in London! You might get into trouble by looking at it,” John was telling him; he reached out for Sherlock’s arm. However, Sherlock was muttering deductions to himself. 

Then a police officer was there in Sherlock's face. “Sir, would you please get up.” John looked at Sherlock who tensed up a bit. 

“She wasn’t the target of this attack,” Sherlock said flatly.

“Sherlock, what’s going on?”John asked, but Sherlock held John’s hand and ran. When they were in an alleyway, Sherlock spoke. 

“We have a problem, John.” 

“Why? What’s wrong, Sherlock?” 

John saw as his partner held on to his hair and muttered. 

“The person who was killed was not the target."

Oh. John thought to look at Sherlock’s face. “You think that this was the criminal network.”

Sherlock nodded and walked towards Central Park station with John following behind. 

“Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?” 

Sherlock sighed. “The trajectory of that bullet, John.” Sherlock paced around the park. “We need to call Kate.”

“Kate is in Chicago, Sherlock,” John said. 

“Call her, now and call Mycroft, too, John.” 

John called Agent Moratti first; Kate answered after the first ring. “Kate?” 

“Yes, who’s this?” the agent said. John heard rustling on the other end. 

“It’s John Watson. I am with Sherlock Holmes,” John said, looking towards his partner who was speaking to himself.

“Oh, nice to hear from you, John. What’s up?”

John sighed and began talking. He told Kate about the precipitating events and ended his account by saying; “We need you to call NYPD so that we can see what we can do about this.”

“Okay,” Kate said. “I’ll see what I'm able to do for you.” 

Sherlock, whom John supposed was listening, grabbed the phone and barked, “You are going to help us with this, Kate.”

John could hear Kate snorting from the other end of the line. “Yes, sir.”

“Jeez, Sherlock, that’s a bit not good,” John said as they walked to hail a cab.

It took them a couple of minutes to get to their hotel. John’s eyes flicked to Sherlock's trousers and waggled his eyebrow.

XXXXX

The next morning, John and Sherlock were sleeping when the call came through from Mycroft. “Hello?” he answered.

“Oh, hello John,” Mycroft said. “Ms Moratti will meet you today.”

“Where?” John asked, looking at Sherlock while getting up.

“In your hotel,” Mycroft answered. “ By the way, John, congratulations on the surrogate being pregnant.”

Meanwhile, Sherlock opened his eyes and took the phone from John’s hand. “Go to hell, Mikey.” He hung up. 

“How didyou know it was him?” John asked, still very amazed by Sherlock’s deductions. 

“You had your patented Mycroft face while you were talking to my brother.” Sherlock mucked smile. 

John got up as well and kissed Sherlock. They exited the room to go and see Moratti. 

Kate was sitting in a plush chair near the entrance of the hotel when they arrived. She saw them first. “Hi, John, Sherlock, how're things?”

“Ah… we’re quite fine, Ms Moratti. Shall we go?” Sherlock said, moving things along.

“Know your priority, Sherlock, huh?” Kate said, moving as well.

They headed to a secluded section of the hotel bar. It was morning so Sherlock and John ordered orange juice and Kate ordered coffee. After ten minutes of mostly silence, Kate asked, “So, Sherlock, what happened yesterday?” 

Sherlock took a deep breath. ”We were eating at Starbucks when we heard gunshots. Like a good consulting detective, I followed the bullet trajectory. It wasn’t this random woman; they wanted to shoot us.”

John looked at Sherlock and continued. “He panicked. He ran through New York City like it was London.” 

Kate wrote down everything they told her. “So, you think it was a part of Moriarty’s network?”

“Yes, don't you?” Sherlock stood abruptly and started pacing the alcove. 

Kate sighed. “I don’t want to scare you. However, you two are wrong. Hear me out.” They both nodded their head and Kate continued, “I looked at the evidence that the NYPD gathered. The evidence is jumbled up. The angle of the shot and gun manufacturer is all wrong." 

Sherlock scoffed. “As if they couldn’t carry another one." A dawning realisation hit him like a punch in the gut. Sherlock stopped. "Sebastian Moran."

“Yes, that’s what they told me,” Kate said, looking at Sherlock earnestly. 

Sherlock knew that years ago, Moriarty’s second in command left the criminal network and established his own with less success. Now that Moriarty was dead, he would avenge the person who had killed his former boss and friend. 

“Wrong timing to have our kids. What do you think, John?” Sherlock muttered under his breath. 

John ignored him and turned to Kate. “What are we supposed to do?” 

The FBI agent nodded her head. “We need to find Moran. Find him now.”

Sherlock and John's gazes were on her face. “We? You included?” 

“Yes, me included, Sherlock,” Kate said grinning.

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“You two are my friends - that’s what friends do for each other,” Kate said.

John and Sherlock looked at her; the lovers nodded at her. “Good, thank you, Kate.”

They left to go to the FBI office in New York City. Sherlock took John’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. What he didn’t say was: “We can do this together. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” John said. 

XXXXXXXX

Sherlock and John followed Kate to the black government-issued sedan. John sat with Kate on the front seat as Kate drove to the FBI headquarters. Sherlock told Kate about crime rates in England. 

As Kate was parking her government-issued car, Sherlock leapt from his seat. “What the hell?” Kate said, looking at John with irritation.

“What happened?” asked John, looking at Sherlock pensively.

“I need to be sick,” Sherlock said.

Kate heard the exchange and asked. “You okay Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked at John and told his fiancé, “I am fine, now, John.”

John squeezed Sherlock's shoulder. “Okay, let's find Sebastian Moran.” 

They followed Kate upstairs to a conference room. Sherlock and John sat in uncomfortable chairs. Kate showed them a photograph of Sebastian Moran while Sherlock wrote on a whiteboard. 

“Okay, so we need to find Sebastian Moran, now,” Sherlock said, looking at John and Kate, back and forth. He sighed. 

“Any sighting of Moran?” Sherlock asked Kate looking at the whiteboard with Operation Second in Command written on it.

John looked over at Sherlock, worriedly, as the detective was shaking his hands repetitively. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock pursed his lips. 

John could see Sherlock was bored. A couple of minutes later, a phone rang; Kate answered. “Guys, we got him,” she said with a tiny smile. “Come with me to stake him out.” 

Sherlock looked at her. He was a bit annoyed and John understood; they were tired. “I thought you said…”

Sherlock cut her off as he stood up. “John, let’s follow Moratti to her car.” 

John was done with Sebastian Moran and would be glad to see the woman who would be carrying his children. He followed Sherlock outside the room and into Kate Moratti’s car.

Kate drove them to a house in the suburbs of Brooklyn: a huge forty-five hundred square foot McMansion.

“What are we doing here, Kate?” John asked.

Kate looked at them. “Sherlock, welcome to Moran’s house.”

“How normal?" John asked. 

“Yes,” Kate said. 

Sherlock supplied an explanation. “They needed a normal life as a front to their illegal activities.” 

While the three were waiting for Moran, the FBI agent asked about them starting a family. "Are you two considering any names yet?”

Sherlock shrugged and answered her. "We don't know yet." They were silent after that. 

After three hours of waiting, they saw a man enter the big house. Kate called for backup as she exited the car. Less than a minute later, NYPD entered the driveway. 

John could hear Kate reciting the famed Miranda warnings as he and Sherlock entered the house. “You have the right to remain silent…”

As Kate was cuffing Moran, he gave chase. Sherlock looked at him. They ran towards the direction of the criminal mastermind. He and Sherlock ran around for fifteen minutes when Sherlock halted and dropped to the ground. 

“Sherlock?” John said as he stopped near Sherlock’s unmoving form. He examined Sherlock’s body. “Sherlock, stay with me!” John said. “He was shot, glazed over.” John called 911. 

The answer was instant. “911. What is your emergency?” said the operator. 

“My partner is shot in the head.” The lilt of his voice wavered a bit. 

“Is he awake?” 

John was crying now. “Yes, but barely, too much blood.”

xxxxxxxx

Sherlock was waking up; there was a pressure on his left hand. He saw John’s hand holding his. Sherlock observed John’s face for a moment. He had a two-day growth. Sherlock cleared his throat. 

John jumped. “Sherlock?" He smiled. “Nice to see you awake.”

Sherlock touched his. “John, did they shave me?” he asked, and John smiled at him.

“They had to, love.” 

“What happened?” Sherlock asked, looking at his fiancé. 

“What do you remember?” John asked.

“Moran shot me,” Sherlock said.

John picked up his hand and squeezed it. “Two days ago, you were in surgery for six hours.” 

Sherlock frowned. “Is Moran dead?” 

“Yes, Kate shot him after he shot you.” 

Then his eyes were shutting on his own accord. He could hear John talking as he was drifting off. “Sleep tight, my love.” 

The next time Sherlock woke up, John was asleep. It was the middle of the night, Sherlock deduced. He could not believe that it was over. 

Moriarty, Moran, they would just be a distant past to both he and John. He thanked a god he didn’t believe in that his kids would be marginally safe. 

XXXXX

He didn't think that, after the ordeal, he and John would be able to continue the whole consulting detective business. They would be having children. It was time to grow up, Sherlock.

He could never be a househusband; his mind would disintegrate. He couldn't imagine himself as a professor, like his mother and Sherrin. Sherlock shuddered at the thought. 

Then a light bulb clicked in his head; he could be a behavioural expert for the yard. He could still help Lestrade and be safe for his children. Hell, if the yard didn’t want him, he could donate money to head his department. It was a 9-5 job, but if it would keep the family safe. It was a sacrifice he would be willing to take. At least it would be interesting, being a forensic psychologist.

Sherlock hadn’t entertained the thought of working for a company or the government before because of the assumption that he couldn't function in that environment. 

He closed his eyes firmly. He would tell John the plan when he woke up later in the morning. With that, Sherlock fell back to sleep. 

xxXxXxxXXX

John woke up around nine; Sherlock was looking at him with searching blue-green eyes. “Good morning, Sherlock, how’re you feeling today?”

“So so, I am just bored. Can we go home, back to London.”

John sighed. Sherlock had just had brain surgery. “You will be discharged tomorrow, Sherlock, but we aren’t allowed to go home yet.”

“We need to go see Danielle anyway.” Dannielle was their surrogate mother; she had a family of her own. 

Sherlock remembered that he needed to speak with John about his plans. He took a deep breath and said, “I am thinking of retiring.” He watched as too many emotions flickered onto John’s face: shock, disappointment and then sadness. 

“Why?” the doctor asked.

The question had surprised Sherlock; he looked at John incredulously. “Honestly, I’m going to be a father, John.”

John sighed. He thought that he and Sherlock would be doing this kind of work for the foreseeable future. “What are you going to do?”

Sherlock flinched; John’s tone was angry and annoyed. “Establishing a Behavioral Unit for NSY.”

“Why?”

Sherlock looked at him as if he had said the kindest things about Anderson. “I want to live to see my children go to university. As you know, my mum died when I was twelve, John. I don’t want my kids to get used to living with us and then in a blink of an eye, because I offended a criminal, I get shot or something. I don’t want that risk. I need to grow up, and so do you.”

That stung a bit because it was true, John supposed. “However, Sherlock, what about me?” He knew he was being selfish. 

Sherlock’s face hardened unnecessarily. “John, change your speciality to pathology and work for St. Barts.” he said and gave John’s hand a tight squeeze. 

"In three years?"

“Yes,” Sherlock said. "I planned to raise my children until they were at least three.” 

“How long have you been planning this??”

“Since Moran almost killed me,” Sherlock said. 

John was displeased again, but he stood up. As much as he hated it, Sherlock was right. “Okay," 

“Okay, then,” Sherlock murmured. He pushed up, kissing John on the lips.

xxxxx

Sherlock left the hospital after three more days of observation. They elected to go to Virginia to see Danielle, their surrogate mother.

XXXX

They left the US after another week of rest for Sherlock. They were planning their wedding. Sherlock and John decided to do a small ceremony with people they cared for in the Holmes Kensington manner. They would be getting married in December, two months away. 

Today, he needed to talk with Lestrade about his imminent retirement. He sat in a small cafe near Scotland Yard. He hugged Greg and felt like an idiot; why was he touching Lestrade?

Greg, to his utter surprise, didn’t say a single word to him. Instead, when Sherlock broke the hug, Greg gave him a firm handshake. “Nice to see you, Sherlock.” 

They sat down in their respective chairs. “I am retiring from work,” he said, ripping off the metaphorical plaster. Beside him, Greg dropped the menu he was holding. 

“You need to stop kidding me,” Lestrade said. He looked at Sherlock and saw the truth written all over his face. “You're not joking, are you?” 

Sherlock looked at Greg squarely. “Lestrade! You know that John and I are going to be dads in half a year. You know when we first met, you were a constable working MVA's and my mother was killed in a car accident.”

Sherlock paused when the waiter came over to get their drinks orders. He continued after when he left. “I don’t want that hurt. I need a job that will challenge my mind while also being safe for my family.”

Greg looked at him with something akin to admiration. “And what would that be?”

Then the waiter arrived with their drinks. “I want to work for the yard, but only for the first three years of my children’s lives.”

Greg nearly spluttered all over the table. He said, “Sherlock, what do you want to do? I mean, when your kids are older?” 

“I want to do behavioural science and establish a behavioural unit.”

Greg looked at him, surprised. “I know you have a degree and all, Sherlock but you hate working with victims of violent crimes,” he pointed out. 

Sherlock took a sip of his coffee. It took him a long time to answer Greg’s question. “You’re right. However, I want to assist with cases in a much more… legitimate way.”

Greg grunted an affirmative. “Will you still be helping me from home while you take extended paternity leave?”

Sherlock nodded. “Of course. Just drop by and we can talk it out over tea.” 

“Thank you.” Greg stood up. However, before they started to leave, Sherlock clasped Greg’s arm. 

“John and I want you to be one of our special people for our wedding,” he said. “A ‘groomsman’ if you would like to see it that way.”

Greg blinked at him. “I would love to; God, Sherlock, you’re getting married.” 

Sherlock led Greg out of the coffeehouse and into his car. “Thanks for the coffee, Sherlock.”

Sherlock texted John while waiting for a cab. ‘I will be coming home soon. Greg agreed to be one of our people of honour. SH.’

John replied after five minutes. ‘See you soon, love.”

XXXXX

Their house, 221 Baker Street was being renovated. The third floor was being widened to accommodate three bedrooms and two bathrooms. Down in 221C, there was going to be a play area, library, and a lab. This was courtesy of Mycroft who had bought the house from Mrs Hudson; the only condition was 221A would be her flat for the duration of her natural life. 

For the duration of the renovation, the couple were living in America in the Holmes’ cottage in California. It was mid-November and,back home, the wedding preparations were on their way.

Today, however, they were in Virginia for the surrogate’s appointment. They were seated on uncomfortable chairs. The doctor probed Danielle’s belly with the ultrasound wand. They were hoping for the two orange sized fetuses to be healthy. John was nervously tapping his foot on the floor, waiting for the results. 

John saw it first before even the other doctor. “It’s boys, Sherlock. Oh my God!” 

The doctor confirmed John’s findings, grinning. “Well, Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson, you are going to have two beautiful baby sons.” 

Sherlock was stock still, then a grin started spreading on his face. "Hi, little ones,” he said to the screen. “Daddy and Dada will be waiting.”

John clasped Sherlock’s hand so as to not shed a single tear. “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” he whispered in Sherlock’s ear.

In a split second, or at least seemed like it, Danielle, the surrogate, was there, hugging them fiercely. “I am so happy for you two.” 

As they were leaving, the doctor said, “Mr Holmes, Dr Watson? Congratulations again.” The doctor gave their hands a tight squeeze. 

“Thank you,” they both said in unison. They left the doctor’s office in high spirits. The three of them drove to a Japanese restaurant near the hotel to treat Danielle and themselves.

End of Chapter two


	3. Chapter 3

XXXX

The first week of December from Sherrinford's POV

Sherrinford Holmes sat at his desk at King’s College planning his younger brother’s stag do. Sherlock, as a boy, had wanted to be a pirate. He phoned Mycroft who answered after the first ring. “Hey, it’s Sherrin, Mikey!”

“No. Hi, what’s up?” Mycroft said. Sherrin could hear voices inside Mycroft’s office.

“Are you busy, Mikey? Because Sherlock’s wedding is in two weeks. DI Lestrade, John’s friend Mike Stanford and I have a problem.” 

“What? Is this for his stag do?” Mycroft had a bored voice on. That tone reminded Sherrin that Mycroft shouldn’t be trusted on these types of issues. He knew, however, that Mycroft was the person to call.

Asking Mycroft for favours was like asking a stubborn child to wear their coat when outside in the cold. "Yes." There was no point in lying to Mycroft. “I need you to point me to an unsolvable maritime incident.”

“For what, Sherrin?” Mycroft asked. 

Sherrinford rolled his eyes. “For Sherlock and John’s stag do.” 

“You want to give Sherlock a murder to solve for his stag night, Sherrin. Are you kidding me?” Mycroft asked. 

“Nope,” Sherrin said. He could hear his elder brother type something on his computer. 

“Yes. I could hook you up with something tonight.” Sherrin could imagine Mycroft’s grinning face.

xxxxxxxxx

The next weekend, a week before their wedding, Sherlock and John were called out to go to a crime scene. It was a cold case in Sussex. Sherlock wasn’t sure about Mycroft’s intentions, but they just went. 

When they got to their destination, Greg was waiting for them. Odd, Sherlock thought suspiciously. “What are you doing here, Lestrade?” 

Then there was a voice from Lestrade’s left. It was his best friend and brother, Sherrinford. Sherlock looked at Sherrin and smiled. “Surprise! It’s a real pirate ship.” 

There, in front of them was a ship. It was from the mid 20th century and was very large. Sherlock could hear John and Sherrin talking. “How did you get this?” John asked when they were inside, and Sherlock was inspecting every room imaginable.

"I asked Mycroft," Sherrin said. 

“You asked Mycroft, for this?” 

Sherrinford shrugged and changed the subject. “John, I know this isn’t your ideal stag night…” 

John cut him off. “I love seeing him happy. Look at him, Sherrin.”

Sherrin turned to John.“We have organised something for you too, John. Tomorrow.” John nodded. 

“Sherlock?” He could hear Lestrade’s voice. “If you could help us…”

Sherlock ended up taking ages. He was so satisfied with the pirate ship that John was half asleep; Sherlock was still talking about the ‘case’.

XXXXXX

The night before the wedding, their bedroom at the newly renovated house was quiet. Sherlock was still awake while John had fallen asleep minutes ago. 

Sherlock stroked John’s hair. He couldn’t believe that today was his wedding day. Ten years ago, when he and Victor had broken up, he hadn’t known if he would ever love again. 

Sherlock didn’t ascribe to the superstition about not seeing his fiancé twenty-four hours before getting married. Plus it was their first time sleeping in their new room. 

He had been thinking of his life; he was extremely fortunate. He never would’ve thought his life could turn out like this after Victor had broken his heart.

Sherlock sighed. He needed to sleep. It was already three in the morning; they had gone to bed at around twelve. He was excited and nervous. He turned onto his side and carded his hand through John’s hair. “I love you, John, so very much.” 

Sherlock sighed and went downstairs; the living area was newly decorated, too. Sherlock wondered if his boys would want to play the piano instead of a string instrument when they got older. 

He knew how to play; it was his first instrument. He just preferred the violin more. Sherlock sat on the piano stool, holding the soft pedal down and started to play. He played songs, modern and classics until it was dawn.

It was eight-thirty in the morning when John joined him at the piano bench and nuzzled Sherlock’s back. “You didn’t go to sleep, love?”

He gave John a playful smile. “No, I’m too nervous and excited.” 

John looked at him. “Yeah? You want tea?”

Sherlock nodded and went back to the piano. He played Love of My Life by the band Queen. He could see John smile in the corner of his eye. John brought him the tea as the music stopped. 

They sat at the piano drinking their tea. Sherlock knew that his soon-to-be husband had learnt to play the piano when he was a boy. His fiancé played one of Bach’s Minuets. 

After the music ended, Sherlock sat down and gave him a chaste kiss. John leaned in. They made out, hand on hair. Then, there was a knock on the door. Mrs Hudson was standing in the doorway. “Hoo, hoo, boys,” she said. “You shouldn’t be seeing each other. It’s bad luck.” 

Sherlock laughed. “Oh no, Mrs Hudson. We don’t ascribe to that thinking.” 

Mrs Hudson looked at the two of them with a bewildering smile. “Oh, scientist.” 

“Yes, we are,” John said. His soon-to-be husband had been accepted into a speciality training in Forensics at King’s College. He was proud of his John.

Sherlock got up and looked at the clock on the wall. It was ten in the morning. In ten hours they would be married and in a hotel room in France. 

They went upstairs and showered. After the shower, Sherlock and John dressed in their morning dress. The only difference was their neck accessory; Sherlock wore a rainbow tie while John wore a purple one. “Handsome,” John said, kissing Sherlock’s cheeks.

"Happy wedding day, my love,” he told John as one of Mycroft’s cars pulled up outside. They got in the car with Mrs Hudson. 

“Congrats, boys,” Mrs Hudson told them as they were moving towards the Kensington Manner. 

Five minutes later, they went inside. Sherlock was the first one to enter. He was greeted by Sherrinford with a hug. “Congratulations, Sherlock!”

“Thank you.” 

xxxxxxxx

Mycroft sat on a chair in his morning dress in the ballroom of the Holmes Manor house; he wasn’t one of the processionals. It oddly distressed him that Sherlock hadn’t included him as one of the people on his best people list. However, he understood where Sherlock was coming from. They weren’t close, neither Sherlock nor Sherrin had a secure bond with him. 

Sherlock and John’s wedding party wasn’t that huge. It was a hundred people at the most.

Mycroft sat as the processional piece was playing. The music was composed by Sherlock and performed by a full orchestra. The first person to enter was Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade in his Westcott; walking with him was first lieutenant William Murray, then Dr Michael Stanford and Dr Molly Hooper. She wore a blue dress and a hat; it was identical to the men’s bow ties . 

Mrs Martha Hudson who was dear to his brother and his brother in law entered. The emotion on her face was evident. 

The final two people from the Best Person list were Jacob Sherrinford Alan Holmes and walking with him was Harriet Jane Watson. Mycroft looked at Sherrinford and thought about how fast time flew. 

The grooms entered. Both Sherlock and John wore traditional Westcott and very unique ties. Sherlock wore a rainbow while John wore a purple one. They looked really great. 

Mycroft was tearing up; he did not know how to feel. He could still remember his father’s last words: to take care of his brothers, primarily Sherlock. Their father had died of cancer when Mycroft was 32, and the other boys were 23 and 22 respectively. 

He had advised Sherrinford andSherlock not to get involved with anyone. Neither of them had listened to him. Looking at Sherlock’s face, he knew how happy his brother was. Mycroft just hoped for Sherlock’s sake that this would last a lifetime.

The mayor said a couple of words while Sherlock and John stood in the middle aisle. Mycroft tuned it out.

Then John was speaking. “We first met almost three years ago when I was invalided home from Afghanistan. I thought my life was over…” He choked out the last words. Clearing his throat, he said, “Then I met Mike on his way to work; I told him who would have wanted to be flatmates with me? Wow, Sherlock, that was almost three years ago. I'm still pinching myself expecting to wake up from a dream. I promise to be faithful and love you and our children.”

Then it was Sherlock’s turn. “I realised my orientation early on in life. I also knew what that meant. I wouldn’t be able to get married or have children.” Sherlock’s voice roughened a bit. “In university, I met Victor. When he broke up with me, I thought I wasn’t going to love again.” He was openly crying now; John squeezed his hand. Mycroft was taken aback; Sherlock had loved Victor, however, what he had not realised was the depth of that love. “As you know, I did a lot of unsavoury things… When I met you, John, that day at Barts was the day I fell in love all over again. However, I wasn’t ready back then. Victor was still on my mind. I know you waited to tell me you love me until that Christmas Eve. I promise to love and protect you and our children as long as I live.”

The mayor said a few more words then he blessed them. “With the power vested in me by Queen Elisabeth II and the British Empire, I now pronounce you partners for life. You may kiss each other.” 

Sherlock advanced towards John. He kissed his partner so passionately that Mycroft could see their tongues. Every adult in the room was whistling. “Get a room, you twats,” he could hear Sherrin said, and everybody erupted into laughter.

After the ceremony, the grooms and their wedding party stood outside the mansion for pictures. Mycroft talked with a nice divorced woman: police commissioner Amanda Gregson. 

xxxxxxx

Six months later:

Sherlock and John had just landed in Richmond International Airport; their children were being born today. Their New York City Doctor called them, as well as their surrogate Danielle. They hopped onto the first available flight. 

They drove to the Children’s Hospital Foundation. When they got to the hospital, they parked their rental. Walking through the hall holding hands, they reached the lift to the maternity ward. 

They found the room number. The door to room 221 was open ajar. Sherlock entered and gave Danielle a kiss on her forehead. “Are the boys doing fine?” Sherlock asked. 

“Yes.” However, the contractions had begun. They held her hand; three hours later, the first baby popped his head. 

“It's a boy,” the doctor said; John shot Sherlock an ‘I know what you are doing' look. The baby had dark hair and blue-green eyes. 

.“Hello, Luka.”” Sherlock was entranced by his son. “It is nice to see you."

A couple of minutes later, another cry came from the opposite end of the room. “It's a boy." Sherlock gave Luka back to the nurse and gave John a small kiss. Nichola was being born.

“Good morning, Nichola,” Sherlock said, looking at his son with love. 

The doctor advised them to go to their separate room so that Daniele wouldn’t bond with the boys. 

Later that day, while the boys were asleep in the nursery, Sherlock was with them. John wrote a final blog entry.

Dear readers,

I am happy to announce the birth of our sons named Nichola Cyrus and Luka Atticus Watson via surrogacy on June 1 2013. 

The boys are both healthy. 

Dr John H. Watson 

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Ilovestopwathces for the bata of this fic.


End file.
